


Maybe Mistletoe Next Year

by ladysisyphus



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysisyphus/pseuds/ladysisyphus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the most part, from the moment Elim Garak walked into a room, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Mistletoe Next Year

For the most part, from the moment Elim Garak walked into a room, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. This time, however, Julian was slightly more intrigued by the long, flat parcel in his hands, neatly enclosed in a shining silver wrap, with his name penned across the top in the tailor's fussy, elegant handwriting. "What's this?" he asked, trying to sound skeptical but unable to contain a smile.

"Christmas," Garak beamed, making the vowel in the first syllable long in the manner of someone who'd only ever read the word before. "And a merry one to you, my dear doctor."

For all the things that Julian might have expected Garak to breeze into his sickbay and say -- and his brain, in its idle moments, had conjured up entire near-publishable novels -- this had never made even the bottom of the list. "...Christmas," he echoed, correcting the pronunciation in the process of articulating his skepticism. He put down the replacement cardiac unit he had been tinkering with, just in case Garak's understanding of the observation of the holiday involved a second, more surprising part.

"I've been reading up about it." Garak looked rather pleased with himself, though Julian supposed that might just have been his natural expression. "During our last dashing detective story through the holosuite, that charming young lady -- Brandy, if I recall correctly, with all the brown hair and those darling red boots -- made you promise you'd be back in time to decorate a tree, and that she'd have a great deal of mistletoe, and I'm quoting here, just waiting for you to get smooched under."

Of all the unimportant cultural nuances and period-specific references sprinkled throughout the stories to give them a more authentic flavour, Julian thought, of _course_ Garak would choose to fixate on this one; the man was frankly uncanny. "And you, of course, went to research."

"It was practically _required_." He extended the box toward Julian, indicating that it should change hands, and Julian took it from him, surprised at how light it was; he wondered if Garak had gotten to the part of the research that made it clear that something was supposed to be _in_ the boxes. With his hands now freed, Garak casually picked up the replacement cardiac unit, keeping his eyes on Julian as he ran his gentle tailor's thumbs over its smooth, dry synthetic surface.

Julian looked from the present to Garak to the device, returning finally to the present, which he shook just enough to establish that there did, in fact, seem to be something inside. "Garak, I...." He paused, wondering how to approach this particular bit of cultural misunderstanding, but the gesture had been so thoughtful and Garak was so obviously delighted by the way he'd handled the situation that it didn't seem worth the trouble of clarification. "I'm touched, truly, I am. Thank you."

Garak's hands stilled for a moment. "Have I done something wrong? Oh, did I get the date wrong? I wasn't certain which calendar to use, since, well, do you know just _how_ many different calendar systems Earth has had?"

Ninety-seven major systems with widespread use for at least some significant portion of recorded human history, only four of which had any widespread application in the modern era -- though Julian was long-practiced enough at this point to know not only to keep such rapidly retrieved information to himself, but that a literal answer wasn't what Garak had been asking about, anyway. "No, no, you're spot-on, it's...." He glanced up at the small clock running across the bottom of the nearest monitor, then did the conversion. "Well, it's December 24th on half the planet, and December 25th on the other half, so I'd say your calculations are correct. I've always said, you've quite an eye for detail." The thin silver paper crinkled beneath his fingers.

"And gift-giving is traditional, yes?" Garak took a step closer, his smile still bright but his eyes a little narrow. He had this look about him sometimes, an expression that Julian had come to associate so deeply with him that he'd come to think of other people who wore it as 'looking like Garak', piercing and predatory, as though he could quite literally see _through_ anyone.

"I suppose it is," Julian nodded, "but you see, I've never received a Christmas present before."

"Never--" Garak's voice caught nearly mid-word, and Julian took a perverse sort of pleasure in watching the exposed gaps in Garak's research knock him for a loop. He pondered this for a minute, tapping one cold finger to his lips thoughtfully. "...Is it because Saint Claus put you on his 'naughty' list?"

The accusation, with no preamble, startled Julian into a laugh. "No, Garak, that's not the reason."

"Because I have to say, as a measure to encourage compliance in small children, telling them that minor gods will withhold gifts in the case of poor behaviour is a _very_ effective threat."

Choosing not to fight the battle of correcting every misunderstanding that had crept into this conversation, Julian shook his head and decided to reign the conversation away from whatever else Garak's (probably Vulcan-authored) anthropological sources had left him thinking; heavens forbid they'd sidetracked into the _actual_ Nicholas myths, because he didn't think there was a chimney on the station. "My family doesn't celebrate Christmas. We haven't for a long time. ...Possibly ever, come to think, though the records that far back are understandably spotty." He shook the box again, wondering if those books had implied precisely what _kind_ of gift-giving was traditional.

Garak looked hard at him for a moment, obviously at a loss and curiously charming for it. He was so confident at all times, so quite frankly _smug_ about everything he did, that it was refreshing to see him finally at sea -- not like he'd been at the mercy of the wire, pained and suicidal, but simply startled, his best-laid plans fallen victim to the inclusion of an unexpected wrench. "My dear doctor, I hope I haven't offended--"

"Not at all." Julian let go of the box with one hand long enough to pat Garak's shoulder. "Thank you, and I'm sorry I've not got anything to give you in return."

And there it was again, that little smile come back to Garak's lips, a hint of joy at having beaten the human at his own holiday, and Julian might have found it irritating -- or at the very least condescending -- had he not felt an unexpected surge of delight at knowing he'd been its cause. "...So, are you going to open it?" Garak gestured to the box with his free hand, still cradling the cardiac unit with the other; its sleek greyness was almost the same shade as Garak's skin.

Julian slid his fingers under the folds in the paper, and it gave way easily, having been held together presumably by nothing more than its attraction to itself. Inside was a plain silver box, the kind he'd seen stacked in Garak's shop many times before, and inside that box was an expanse of dark blue material, folded so smoothly that at first Julian thought it to be nothing but a plain bolt. Yet as he took its edge in his hands and lifted it, edges and sides tumbled loose, and it revealed its true shape to be a shirt with a wide Cardassian collar and dark silver embroidery that trickled up the long sleeves from the cuffs. "Garak, this is _lovely_ ," he said, and there was no hesitation or qualification to that statement.

"Do you like it?" Garak asked, and somehow, during the unwrapping process, he had moved very close indeed. "It's just something I threw together."

The incredible detail of the embroidery, which made a pattern somewhat akin to the arms of a spiral galaxy, labeled that statement an utter lie, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. The material felt cold in his hands, as though it might have some metallic component to it, except it felt too lightweight to be anything more than some silk variant he couldn't quite place; he'd truly never seen or felt anything like it before. "...And did you have a place in mind where I might wear this?"

Garak shrugged as though he hadn't given it a moment's prior thought. "As you choose, dear doctor, it's yours. ....Though," he began, looking straight at Julian without even a hint of mischief colouring what was undoubtedly a practiced expression, "well, now that you mention it, perhaps we might have dinner together sometime in the very near future. As you said, it'll be December 25 _somewhere_ on your planet for at least another full day here."

"And I, of course, might treat you to that dinner as _your_ Christmas present, all the while wearing my new shirt." The more time they spent together, the more Julian realized the utter folly of believing that he'd ever have more than the slightest moment of an edge over Garak in the complex planning department. "What a novel idea. I'm glad you thought of it, just now, this very second."

"As am I!" Garak nodded brightly, either having utterly missed the sarcasm in Julian's voice or choosing to ignore it. "I'll be in the shop all evening working on a rather pushy Kerelian's performance attire -- a lovely people, but _so_ particular about their buttons -- so do drop by at any time." With a little wave, he started for the exit.

"Garak!" Julian called, and when Garak turned in the doorway at the sound of his name, Julian pointed to his hands. "You almost walked off with my heart."

A strange expression washed over Garak's features, but it was gone before Julian could tell what it had been, and he placed the cardiac unit atop the nearest workspace. "My apologies," he said, giving another of his inscrutable smiles before disappearing into the Promenade crowd just beyond the doors, leaving Julian with a new shirt and a dinner date and the strange sensation that he'd just missed something important. But whatever it had been, like the look on Garak's face, it was gone now.


End file.
